


substitution

by galaxyeyedrops



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hanahaki AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: The year he turns nineteen, Ren Amamiya comes down with Hanahaki Syndrome. The object of his desires? Up and coming idol Goro Akechi.In an effort to help him, his parents contact a celebrity impersonator service—famous for helping their clients get over the unattainable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i got tired of sitting on this (like a year or so), ill fix formatting later i guess

## Dealing with Hanahaki Inflicted Fans: Tips From a Former Idol  
  
---  
After months of scouring Tokyo for tryout events, I finally made it. I was signed onto a top label, promised a debut within months. The first thing my new manager told me, before even scheduling any singing or dancing lessons, was to be careful of the Hanahaki fans. They can destroy your career, he said.  
[Read more](https://kotaku.com/how-shin-megami-tensei-iv-stripped-me-of-my-gamer-prid-511171107)  
  
 

* * *

 

 

News spreads across campus fast. Ren's only been absent for two days but it seems that no matter where she turns, someone will inevitably pipe in with a _did you hear what happened to amamiya,_ casting her significant glances while they're at it. She bites her lip. Ann knows it's not her, or a least is pretty certain that it isn't. While she and Ren _had_ dated in high school, it was only for a couple of weeks. They broke up pretty amicably; Ren cheering her on and supporting her through her relationships and vise versa. Nothing happened between the two of them in the past week or so, either. Which, according to the daytime dramas, was pretty important when dealing with the initial breakout.

Ren hadn't talked to anyone since, stayed shut up in his room, not even reading their messages, much less replying. She pours in an extra packet of sugar in her coffee and stirs. It's probably gone cold by now, the barista is sending her nasty looks from the counter, but Ann pretends not to notice.

She checks her phone again. Five minutes to three. She exits out of her message history with Ren, switching contacts to Ryuji instead.

 _where are u_ , she asks, followed up several question marks.

The replies come seconds later.

_> srry_

_> missed train_

_> onw_

She taps back to conversation with Ren and as expected, no change. No little loading bubble with _Ren is typing_ , no _Read at 2:56 PM._ Nothing.

She takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee. It's awful but lends the image of a paying customer, letting her keep the table for at least another fifteen minutes.

She contemplates buying a crepe, she's full but that would bump it up by half an hour—when Ryuji runs in, panting and out of breath.

He spots her quickly, skips the line and heads to her table right away.

"You okay?" She asks, offering him the rest of her coffee.

"Mhm." He takes a sip, makes a face, but gulps down the rest regardless. "Some asshole salaryman was running and shoving people outta the way to get to his train." He puts the empty cup back on the table, scowl deepening. "Someone coulda died."

Ann winces sympathetically. "Everyone was fine though?"

"Yeah. Just took a while cause one of the people he shoved was my mom's friend and I had to make sure she'd get herself looked at." He explains. "She's got a bad hip."

Ann nods. "How about Ren? Did you get anything out of him?"

Ryuji sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from a sweaty brow. "Nah. I knocked and yelled for a while but he wouldn't answer. Had to leave cause the neighbors threatened to call the cops."

He lets his hands fall to his lap. "I'm guessing you didn't get much?"

"Yeah," Ann turns her phone towards him, scrolling past multiple sent messages, detailing Ren's lack of response.

Ryuji is silent as he reads through them, turning his head away when he's done. "Yusuke and Futaba say they've got nothing either. I know he's got it rough, but what is Ren thinking? Doing all this?"

Ann slumps in her seat, elbows forward on the table, head in between. _I don't know_ , she wants to say. She wishes Ren would tell them.

She picks up her phone again, scrolling past Ren's contact to _Ren's Mom_. Slowly, she begins to type.

 

* * *

 

Someone's knocking at the door again. Makoto was by only a couple hours ago, leaving a polythene bag full of prepared food at the door, so it can't be her. Ann, Haru, and Yusuke have class right now so it's not them either. The rhythmic pattern to it is different from Ryuji or Futaba's method of hitting the door as hard as they could.

Unwillingly, Ren is drawn out of his blankets, past the bed—Makoto's plastic containers piled high—and towards the door.

The eyehole shifts as he raises it to view his visitor. Name brand clothes, a familiar haircut, a handsome, smiling face.

"Hello," he says, well aware of Ren at the other side of the door. He holds his business card up so the other can read. "Your parents sent me to see you."


	2. Chapter 2

Excerpt from the writings of M. Rivera, Professor of Anthropology at the University of Puerto Rico:

 

 

> "The disease colloquially referred to as Hanahaki (formed from the combination of the Japanese terms for "flower" and "to throw up") has existed since the era of _Homo erectus_ , although in many separate strains.
> 
> In these early strains, Hanahaki did not present itself as a code, with each flower representing a different emotion, but rather as a single symbolic item, with a universal meaning throughout that region.
> 
> These, like the "flowers" Hanahaki was named after, all consist of the same type of epithelial tissue. It has been posited that as societies shifted and trade flourished, the disease evolved, expanding from one understood symbol into multiple. This theory is widely accepted by the scientific community, first proposed in Omar Mansour's A History of Petals, where he compared Hellenic records of Hanahaki to those of more insular societies.

 

* * *

 

"So you're an imposter?"

"An _impersonator_ ," the lookalike corrects with a smile. "Our agency functions with the approval of many celebrities and their sponsors—Goro Akechi included."

He sits opposite to Ren, legs crossed under the coffee table. He smiles with the same smile, jokes with the same mischievous glint in his eyes, sweeps his hair back with the same flourish. It's hard to believe that he isn't the same man that Ren's been obsessively collecting merchandise of for months.

That isn't to say there aren't any differences, because while subtle, they exist. This Goro Akechi is more calculating than cheery, edges ever so slightly sharper than the boy on TV.

His eyes bore into him, unflinching through their entire exchange.

Ren clears his throat. "My parents sent you?" he asks.

The impersonator nods and points to the business card resting on the table. "We're fairly well-known in this business actually. Around one fourth of reported Hanahaki cases involve a celebrity of some sort so agencies like ours have been popping up fairly often."

He pauses. "Normally, there's more of a waiting period. Hanahaki deaths aren't instantaneous but from what I heard, your parents insisted that this was an emergency."

His gaze drifts around the room; trash tossed all across the floor, clothes scattered in between, the sickly sweet smell of rotting food overpowering.

A blush rises up Ren's neck, settling around his cheeks. "It's been a rough week," he tries to explain.

"There's no need to worry," the imposter says. "I'm not here to judge. My job is to help you through this and work to reduce your obsession."

"By dressing up as him?"

The imposter smiles, a practiced gesture Ren can tell. "It's about creating a fantasy," he explains. "As I'm sure you are aware, Hanahaki victims experience high levels of stress both before and after the initial breakout. They focus on someone unattainable as sort of a guiding light, their polaris if you will. Our duty is to bring that to them in more controlled manner, working alongside any therapist the sufferer may have."

"And yes," he adds before Ren can interject. "I've already heard the host comparisons."

 

* * *

 

Haru pulls out a weed with relish. Her gloves are filthy by now, clothes close to following suit, but she doesn't care.

Her gardening circle is small, only her and a couple of upperclassmen, but they more than make up for it in enthusiasm. Recently, they've gotten the college's approval to remodel one of the dorms' rooftop garden. It was a mess, simply put. Untouched in years, it was closed off following far too many wild parties with one too many accidents.

The manager decided to open it up again, following stricter curfew rules. The time hasn't been kind to the garden, the whole thing overgrown, weeds starting to crack into the concrete.

Haru wipes some dirt off her face with a sleeve. She turns to her companion. "You should try it too!" she says.

Makoto shakes her head with a smile. "I'll pass." She gestures to her clothes, white and freshly pressed. "Sis bought this for me a couple weeks back and I don't want to ruin it. Next time though?"

Haru giggles, raising a hand so Makoto can pull her up. "I'll hold you to that."

She peels off her gloves, carefully placing them on a nearby bench, starts dusting off her clothes to dislodged any remaining bits of dirt right after.

Her phone buzzes, a new message, which Haru pulls out to read immediately—ignoring how her fingers smear the screen.

"What was it?" Makoto asks, curious of Haru's suddenly conflicted expression. "Did something happen?"

"No." Haru bites her lip. "My father wants us to have dinner together today."

"Isn't that good then? Maybe he's talked to your professors and wants to reward you?"

"Hmm…"

Makoto shakes her head. "If this is about our date, don't worry about it. We can go out some other time. This is your chance to spend some time together and finally get him to see you as his proper heir."

Haru breathes in slowly, lets out an exhale. "You're right." she says, now determined. "This _is_ my chance!"

Makoto's smile is gentle. "I'm excited to know how it goes."

 

Haru's new dress is far too tight. She bought it online on a whim months back, never tried it on, and now it pinches at her underarms and molds to her hips. A cardigan on top eliminates most of the problems, but the discomfort remains.

She gets to the table first, sits alone for several minutes, until the maid alerts her that her father is on his way.

She fidgets, smoothing out the skirt more than once until finally— _finally_ , he walks in. The plates are laid out in short order and when Haru lifts her head, there is a smile on his face.

She lets the maid select her portions after her father has started eating, a little of everything.

"Haru," her father addresses her before her first bite. "I have wonderful news."

"Oh?" she asks, ignoring the anxiety that bubbles up in her gut. "Did something good happen?"

Her father smiles again, a reflection of his younger self. "Yes," he nods, more to himself than anyone else. "You see, a friend of mine—You remember Mr. Sugimura, right? The one from the Diet?"

Haru clenches her fists, a sense of revulsion comes up her throat. She doesn't like where this is going at all.

"Well," her father continues, oblivious. "His son has recently come down with Hanahaki and as it turns out, the person he wants is you."

Her nails dig deeper.

"And I thought, this must be our chance! To bring the Okumura name to new heights…"

They draw blood.

 

* * *

 

"It's getting late," the impersonator says, checking his watch. He turns back to Ren. "I'm sorry but we'll have to pick up tomorrow. How does ramen sound? I know a couple of good places."

"...No."

"Hm?"

"Not yet." Ren says. He doesn't clarify further.

"That's alright," the other says, leaning forwards across the table. "I'll get some takeout tomorrow. We can take our time."

He leans back, leaving that thought in Ren's mind, picking himself up quickly—pulling a facemask and pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket.

"By the way," he says, steps away from the door, all items firmly in place. "Call me Akechi. It makes things simpler."

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos/comment if you liked!!


End file.
